


phantom touch

by toromeo (ald0us)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Creative abuse of the twinning bond, F/M, Lilith would NOT approve of this use of the rune, M/M, Multi, Sexual Fantasy, but everyone's into it and having a good time, dubcon because of the bond, specifically Jonathan's we all know this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ald0us/pseuds/toromeo
Summary: Jace and Clary catch Jonathan and the bond encroaching on their nocturnal activities and decide to put a stop to it—creatively.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern | Sebastian Verlac, Clary Fray/Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern | Sebastian Verlac/Jace Wayland, Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern | Sebastian Verlac/Jace Wayland
Kudos: 55
Collections: DL;DR: Shadowhunters Fic





	phantom touch

**Author's Note:**

> Set during SH 3x19--just wanted to write some show canon team evil, because we were fucking robbed

Dinner was steak and quail eggs. Not things that generally went together, but when it came to cooking Jonathan liked a little showing off. He gave the choice cut to Clary, because he was a good brother like that, and cooked it medium-rare so the center had the sweetest blush of pink. To Jace he grudgingly gave a luscious chunk of marbling—just so the bastard had to enjoy it—and cooked it until it was on the right side of tough. He recalled Isabelle mentioning he liked it this way, and it gave him perverse pleasure to see Jace’s eyebrow quirk when he took the first bite.

He gave the remainder to himself, made it so rare the juices were bloody. Jace stared at him the entire time they ate, Lilith’s cutlery clinking against their plates and teeth like the din of a quiet battle.

“That was wonderful,” Clary told him with sparkling enthusiasm when she’d finished, polishing off the wild greens with strawberry vinaigrette salad he tossed together with her fork. Jace smiled along in limpid agreement, rubbing his fingers over her wrist. A twin blossom of sensation unfurled along Jonathan’s arm and he hastily shoved it under the ornately carved table, grabbing at his forearm to halt the vibrations of feeling from going any further. “Thank you, Jonathan.”

Jace’s hand curled protectively around his—their—shoulder and Jonathan’s breath caught in his throat. Jace’s fingers brushed Clary’s sholder in tiny, soothing circles, making Jonathan’s skin tingle.

“You’re—you’re welcome,” he managed to choke out before Clary pressed a peck of a kiss to Jace’s cheek, taking his hand (warm, rough) and leading him towards her room. Jonathan swiped hurriedly at his lips, trying to force his focus back to Lilith’s fine Italian china. He was very glad whatever warlock had owned the apartment before her had seen fit to install a dishwasher. 

He managed to load in most of the plates into the washer before Jace’s lips scraped his own in earnest, sliding down his and Clary’s back. He leaned into the counter, his legs going unsteady as Jace’s hand dug into the back of his thigh, as if pulling his leg up. Heat darted from his neck down his spine and he let out a soft sound as Jace’s hand cradled the small of his back. He could feel each of the five points of his fingers shifting with the ghost of movement, every scrape of Jace’s chapped lips and his stubble setting his nerves alight.

Jonthan took advantage of the few clumsy scrapes of fingers on his chest as they began to undress to make a rush for his bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him and struggling out of his jeans and sweater as fast as he could before diving into Lilith’s massive four-poster. The mattress felt cold as it had in Sibera, but the brush of the sheets against his suddenly-sensitive skin was like magic.

For a moment he lay there, trying to make no noise or arouse suspicion, wondering desperately what they were doing on the other side of the wall. Talking, maybe? Whatever it was, Jonathan wished they would stop it. Lying in Lilith’s bed in the purple shade of the dying evening staring at the ornate ceiling and feeling the heat seep from his skin, he suddenly felt abruptly and terribly alone.

A soft murmur sounded from the other room, just enough for Jonathan’s sensitive ears to pick up. They were talking, the lower register Jace. Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself away so that subtle rumble might reverberate in his chest. If he reached into the bond just so he could feel the buzz of Jace’s words on his neck, the tickle of his hair on Clary’s cheek, the sleek feel of her own on his chest.

Jace’s hand moved on his waist and Jonathan let out a pressurized gasp, grabbing a handful of the cold sheets. Electric heat trailed purposefully down his ribs, over his stomach, down to his hips. Jonathan could imagine Jace kneeling, soaked in lamplight, golden hair shining like a beacon. Slipping his hands into the silken strands as Clary had once, feeling the willful movement of Jace’s head under his palm.

Tonight, Jace was taking his time—suckling at the sensitive skin of the inner thigh, hot with his breath and his mouth. Jonathan hiked his leg up under the blankets and skated his fingertips over the thrilling skin. Then, after what have could have been an eon of torture, he went in for the kill. Jonathan stifled a profound gasp at the silken movement of his tongue between Clary’s legs, the unfurling magic building inside him. He wanted—he wanted any number of things, to pant and scream and beg freely, to gasp openly at each onslaught of pure sweet heat. The ghost of a finger slipped inside him, impossible, and he did gasp into the cool pillow as the trembling feeling coalesced and rubbed at a point inside him that didn’t exist. It felt wonderful and terrible all at once and he choked back a helpless sound.

Clary came in a sudden, shallow rush—a peek at what was to come. He caught the tail ends of her sounds through the wall over the carefully modulated rasp of his breathing and his gut clenched, reflexively.

Jace’s arms wrapped around their waist and Jonathan liked to imagine he was picking them up and carrying him to bed. He envisioned putting his arms around Jace’s wide, hard shoulders, clamping his shaky legs around Jace’s waist and sighing the aftershocks of his orgasm into one of his hideous grey t-shirts. Or was he already naked? The images warred for a second before resolving into a shock of pleasure as heat played over one of his nipples. He could imagine Jace with his head bowed between the pale valley of Clary’s breasts, their intermingled soft sounds shadowing out all else. He imagined Jace’s powerful arms braced on either side of him, his weight heavy between Jonathan’s legs. Jonathan pushed his wrists up over his head on the pillows, imagining Jace’s hands holding them there.

They kissed as the heat of him eased in, driving an electric surge up through Jonathan’s body from the inside, making him full and _oh fuck_ so full. He took a deep breath and held it, wriggling helplessly as if he could drive himself deeper onto Jace’s cock, mouth opened in a silent cry eyes squeezed shut.

 _Please_ , he ranted in his head, _please please please fuck me please—_

The oxygen burn was getting perilously high but his thoughts all ran together in an incoherent mess like a melting painting. The pleasure had risen to a dizzying peak, unbearable; Jonathan’s skin seared almost as much as his starved lungs. An electric thrill was building and buzzing in him with every throbbing movement of Jace inside Clary.

Release hit him unexpectedly, forcing the held breath from his lungs like air from a popped balloon. Jonathan’s spine arched as if possessed, gasping out loud and overwhelmed, trying to pant some sense back into his bliss-fractured mind. _Fuck_ , he babbled, broken and overcome. _fuck, Jace, Jace, Clary—_

A loud thunk sounded on the other side of the wall, followed by some very intent whispering. As the oppressive throbs of mindless ecstasy faded into vague sticky, sweaty embarrassment, Jonathan suddenly began to suspect he may have said some of that out loud. The thought was accompanied by a hot, prickly wave of terror. 

Footsteps sounded, drawing nearer, and Jonathan waited, holding entirely still like a lizard pinned by the gaze of a predator to a rock. Muffled noises sounded against the door before Jace wrenched it open, looking irate. “Jonathan—“

He was still struggling into his shirt, jeans undone, golden hair out of its perfect sweep. He halted abruptly in the doorway, as if taken aback by the sight of Jonathan almost completely naked, twisted up in his bedsheets with his jeans rucked up around his ankles. Jonathan grabbed an armful of sheets and shoved it between his legs in some lame attempt at preserving his modesty.

“Uh,” he said, more out of a need to fill the blank, incriminating silence than anything. “Sorry?” 

  
“Sorry?” Jace repeated, a bit stupidly. ,Clary's brother, Valentine’s demon experiment was staring at him in a moue of bashfulness. Even in the dim blue moonlight, he was shockingly pale, his runes and the dark blankets standing out against his skin like coal. “Really? That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

The look Jonathan gave him was distinctly sulky and almost entirely devoid of remorse. His chin tipped up, making him look much more dignified than he ought to. “In my defense, it’s very hard to hate you when you fuck me stupid every night.”

Multiple lines of thought collided in a colossal multi-car pile-up. Fuck him...?—the twinning rune. Of course. Every moment, every touch between him and Clary was broadcast to Jonathan through time and space like interdimensional wi-fi. He might as well have e-mailed him their sex tape.

Jace turned to Clary, half in horror and half hoping she would tell him it somehow wasn’t true. Instead, she was looking up at him in a pinched expression of exaggerated innocence, as if trying not to laugh. “You—you knew about this?”

“Well,” said Clary, or whatever Lilith’s bond had made her, “Maybe a little bit.”

Jace’s ire wavered. Not for the first time since he’d joined Clary and Jonathan, he wished he could ask her—really her—what she really wanted. He felt guilty he even had to ask, that this all made him doubt himself on every impulse, every thought and desire. So he did the next best thing, drew her aside out of the doorframe and asked, quietly as he could, “Are you okay?”

Clary’s mouth lifted up in a slow, small, meaningful smile. Her eyes met his, full of assurance, and if it weren’t for the significance of that moment he could have kissed her for it. “I’m okay,” she said, and touched his hand as if for reassurance. “Thank you.” 

And she kissed him—just a little one. When she pulled away, her eyes were full of mischief. Her gaze turned slyly to Jonathan, as if to ask, what about him?

A quick, traitorous thought occurred to him and Jace touched the ring stowed in his jeans pocket, as if glad to know it was still there. Jonathan had slouched into a ball of his bedding, still glaring at Jace like a suspicious ferret, as he always did. Looking at him, one would never know he’d been screaming Jace and Clary’s names just a few moments prior.

He was clever—Jace had to give him that. He hadn’t let their plans slip once, save for a few crumbs Jace didn’t doubt were for his benefit, a test. His instincts detected Jace as a threat and so he watched Jace—every moment from when he was pouring cereal and orange juice in the morning to when he and Clary went off to bed at dusk. The same instincts drilled into him by Valentine that thrummed in Jace’s veins were in Jonathan’s, binding them the same as he was bound to Clary.

Opposite ends of the same experiment. How close was Jace to being the one who received the drops of Lilith’s blood?

It didn’t matter. Jace had found a weakness, and he’d be a fool not to exploit it. Jonathan’s paranoid mistrust of Jace and his and Clary’s mysterious shared silence wasn’t going to be broken if he didn’t find a way in between them.

Ignoring the warning of his own instincts, Jace closed the distance between them and reached out his hand to take Jonathan’s chin, putting his thumb near the actionable radius of his mouth and tipping his head back. Jonathan’s glossy eyes turned up, thin but soft lips parting, the danger contained in him crackling between them like something more intimate. Jace pushed into his space so that their faces were close enough he could feel Jonathan’s breath unsteady against his cheek, staring into the inky black of Jonathan’s eyes. Unwavering.

Surprised at his own breathlessness, Jace said, “You liked that, huh?”

The white column of Jonathan’s throat worked as he swallowed. His eyes flicked to Clary for a second before he dipped in and crashed his mouth impulsively to Jace’s.

He was not an especially good kisser. Awkward, too much teeth. But there was something in his eagerness that lit a perverse fire in the pit of Jace’s stomach that made up for the clumsy wet movements of his tongue. Had he ever kissed before? The question was suddenly more tantalizing than Jace cared to admit.

Jace moved his hand to grip Jonathan’s jaw, holding him in place, then kissed him properly. Jonathan took his lead without prompting and yielded, letting Jace explore his mouth and lips at a slick, languid pace. Jonathan pushed out a soft little sigh and opened his mouth more as if begging for something else. The slow movement of Jace’s tongue against the hot silk of his was becoming electric, Jace’s lips taking on a tingle at Jonathan’s moan.

The delusion shattered and Jace broke away, reality and the adrenaline sense of impending danger flooding back to him like sucking in a cold blast of air. He pulled back, trying to still the thumping of his racing heart and clamp down on his harsh breathing. Jonathan’s lips shone with spit in the moonlight, twisting upwards in strange, open-mouthed smile. His teeth were small and straight, unnervingly like Clary’s.

Jace broke away from Jonathan’s gaze only to find an identical one pinned on him by Clary. Even in the dark he could see the flush on her cheeks—in a heady rush he realized she’d been turned on by their display. Him and Jonathan. Something curled in his gut, and he wasn’t sure if it was closer to arousal or discomfort.

“Night, Jace,” said Jonathan, a creature staring out of the darkness, and his voice was soft as velvet.


End file.
